


Daddy's Little Boy

by dirty_himitsu



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Abuse, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bondage, Clones, Daddy Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, Face-Fucking, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Incest, M/M, Non-Consensual Spanking, Obsession, Parent/Child Incest, Past Rape/Non-con, Past Sexual Assault, Past Torture, Piss, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stalking, Trauma, Verbal Degradation, eventual consensual sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-25
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-05-16 03:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5812591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirty_himitsu/pseuds/dirty_himitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Scout has recently learned the truth: Spy is his father. Pent-up daddy issues come to the surface, and lives are torn apart. </p><p>This fic is twisted and dark and I'm gross, please enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The younger man on top of him is breathing rapidly, small whining sounds mixed with moans as he fondles himself. There’s an odd expression on his face, one that even the Spy can’t make complete sense of. How could he of all people miss this bizarre hate-turned-infatuation until it was too late? The boy - because that is what he still is to him; to call him a man doesn’t fit - did some impressive work with the ropes. Spy has escaped a lot of things, but he never had a chance here. It makes him wonder how long Scout had this planned, stowing away rope from the Engineer and the drugs from the Medic so that he could subdue his teammate and bind him to his own bed. Even if the tape were removed from his mouth, would he really want to call for anyone? Does he really want any of them to see him like this, naked, un-masked, and half-hard with the youngest member of the team rubbing his hand up and down his cock to coax it, however unwilling, to an erection?

Spy shakes his head, both in response to his own silent question and to Scout, who has a strange grin now as his hand clenches tighter around his dick.

"Ya like that, Daddy? I bet ya wanna fuck me, huh? Is that why you couldn’t tell me the truth?” Scout puts out his bottom lip a bit, a false pout though there is actual hurt in his eyes. “You were ashamed of how sick it was that ya wanted to fuck your own kid, weren’t ya?"

_Mon Dieu, this is madness. This isn't real. This can't be happening._

Scout lowers himself along his body, nipping at his chest and sucking on a nipple. He has to squeeze his eyes shut. It’s too much to accept the truth, that Scout’s rough tongue teasing the swollen nub is sending chills through him and making his cock twitch. There is a loud, wet smack as he pulls back. “I’m gonna fuck myself on Daddy’s big cock, just like he wants. Imagine Ma’s face if we told her! Don’t worry, it’s our secret. Right, Daddy?” he goes on in the strange, perverse tone he’s adopted.

He can’t let this happen. Whatever is wrong with the boy, whatever has gotten into him, he can’t let this continue. For everyone’s sake, he has to snap him out of this. Yet looking at the expertly-tied bindings on his wrists and knowing those on his ankles match, despair crushes him with the sheer weight of the realization that even he is without any ideas. Spy gives Scout a pleading gaze but as soon as he catches his eyes he sees that excites him more.

“You’re so impatient, Daddy.” He leans back up onto his knees and back, settling on Spy’s thighs. “That’s okay. I’m eager to feel your dick inside me, too.” He takes both their erections in one hand and rubs them together, groaning. He keeps this up for a few minutes before letting go. In one swift yank to the side, Scout pulls off the tape from his mouth. “Tell me ya wanna fuck my ass, Daddy."

By now Spy is in shambles, his body having betrayed his conscience. His skin is shimmering with sweat and precome leaks from his hard erection. “This is wrong,” he breathes, squeezing his eyes shut. 

The hand across his cheek smacks surprisingly hard. It shouldn’t be a surprise. Despite all the jokes from the others, Scout isn’t weak and he can hold his own. Spy has never stopped thinking of him as the little boy he visited in disguise, unable to be a real father to him. Is that what twisted him into this? He shudders at the thought.

“Open your eyes!” he snarls when Spy doesn’t respond. "Look at me when I ride you. Know what a fucking sick asshole you are, wanting to fuck your own son.”

Another slap follows and Spy obeys, only to glare up at him. “Snap out of this, Scout! This is perverse!” His baritone voice has an airy quality to it as he tries to control his reactions. That is of course a lost cause with Scout’s hand rubbing up and down his swollen member with such fervor. He fights a moan in his throat as a particularly stimulating stroke of the boy’s thumb passes over the slit and down the head of his cock. The audible whimper that still escapes him makes his son grin.

“Awe, c’mon Daddy. You’re the one who’s so hard. Don’t ya wanna use my ass to feel better?” Scout leans in, the smell of bubble-gum and grape soda on his breath. “I’ve been practicing. Gettin’ myself ready so I can take Daddy's cock all the way to the hilt. But I kept myself pure for you. Like a good boy. Just used fingers and some stuff I found in Doc’s lab. That guy’s the real pervert, ya know? Worse than you!"

Merde, he's really stolen Medic’s personal things? The German will rip him to shreds if he finds out.

Scout’s hands run along his torso, the skin on his palms baby-soft from keeping them wrapped all the time. He lifts himself up from where he was straddling his lap. "I want ya to do one more thing before I let you fuck me,” he purrs. He inches up on his knees, settling back down over Spy’s chest and grinding his hips down on his collarbone. The boy’s erection bobs just over Spy’s mouth as he stares up, horrified. “Suck it."

Spy takes a moment to collect himself. He has seen so many things, but this is beyond anything he’s ever imagined. Then, he presses his lips together and shoots an icy stare of defiance up at him.

His son hits him harder this time, with enough force to snap his head to the side and cause him to bite down on his cheek. Coppery, salty swirls flavor his saliva. “Ya want me to fuck you instead? I’m bein’ nice here, Daddy. I’m letting you have me! Look at you, yer not goin’ anywhere. What if I just rape ya instead, for bein’ such a lousy dad?"

Eyes widening involuntarily, Spy looks up to see in those eyes a hatred he has been blind to for years. It’s hard to argue here. He is a lousy father. Scout is the son he abandoned and in doing so, failed him. Maybe this is his deserved fate, to be nothing but a complicit tool in the further depravity of his child. He can’t accept that though, not yet. Spies are the masters of manipulation, of reading someone’s needs, and hate is just angry love. It's a shield, one he’s used on many occasions himself. Behind those emotions is the hurt they protect.

“You’re right,” he concedes. The response is immediate. Scout’s sneer falters, his thick dirty-blonde eyebrows lift up on his broad forehead, and he is lost for a retort. Good. “I have not done my job, I have not been there as I should have."

The boy can only nod, trying to regain some of his stern expression to cover up his shock.

These next words are the trickiest. Were it not for his training, all his experience and the trials he has already endured, he would not be able to muster the will to do this. The shame is hard to ignore even now, but he knows how to clear his mind and block out these distractions. “Let me be here for you now… not like this. You’ll regret this, Scout. Is humiliating me worth defiling yourself? You’ve already won, son.”

For a moment, he thinks he’s got him. Pale blue eyes, grayish like his own, roll away to the side, blinking in rapid succession. Holding back tears; he's ashamed. At least he has the common sense left to know he should be, to know this warped desire of his is beyond dark. Scout’s hands clench and unclench into fists where he has them resting on is thighs. His resolve is crumbling. Spy could get out of this.

“Untie me, mon fils. We’ll find help for you—"

Scout’s head snaps back and the shields are up again, damaged but functioning. “Help me? He wants to help me now? Oh that’s fucking rich!” He grabs a fistful of Spy’s hair with one hand, yanking his head back and spitting in his face. “Too late, Daddy,” he hisses, tone more mocking and cynical than it has been all evening. “Open your fucking mouth if ya wanna help so bad."

He does, though with the intention of protesting. Stupid of him. His son’s job is to be fast, and in seconds his head is jerked up and onto the throbbing cock that has been waiting. The brief distraction had caused it to soften but now that he’s in his mouth, Spy can feel it pulse and twitch against his tongue as he gags. Over the sound of his own choking and fumbled attempts to adjust, he hears Scout moan. The boy rocks his hips up and harder against him.

“Oh fuuuuck! Daddy! Yes, fuck yeah! Holy shit Daddy’s mouth feels so good!"

Spy slams his eyes shut and thrashes at the bindings holding him down, useless as it is. He’s struggling for air now, chest heaving against the terrifying burn filling his lungs. Medic’s voice sneaks up from somewhere in his thoughts, scolding him for smoking so much. He supposes his lungs would be a lot stronger if he didn’t. Saliva pours out around his mouth and down his chin and neck, followed by involuntary tears. Scout pulls out for only a moment, grinning and panting down at him while he hacks and wheezes for air. He isn’t allowed much time before the boy snatches another chance to ram his cock back into his mouth. The process repeats, each time more agonizing than the first until his son is losing himself in fucking his throat. Perhaps Spy will die like this, choking on his son’s dick to the point of suffocation because he couldn’t control it. Imagine how Respawn would log that incident.

Scout for his part is bucking his hips in a frenzy and wailing praise and insults in one. “Daddy! Oh shit, you’re so good at this! Ya would be though, wouldn’t ya? Fucking whore, probably love to suck cock. But this mouth is mine! Daddy is mine! I’m not sharing anymore…Fuck!” The wet erection slips from his mouth with a grotesque gurgling cough.

Tears streak his face now, humiliation and shame and concern for whatever his son has become a collective torture more severe than anything his past enemies ever subjected him to. Scout reaches behind himself, teasing his fingers over Spy’s dick, which he is horrified to find is still very much erect despite the degradation he just endured at the hands of his boy.

“You did a good job, Daddy. And still rock-hard!” Scout licks his lips, reaching over to one of the side tables and yanking open the top drawer. Spy’s eyes widen a little when he pulls out the tube.

“How—?"

“How did I know where you keep this? Because I come in here. I try on Daddy’s cute panties and imagine how it would feel to have this big cock in me.” He tugs on Spy’s erection to punctuate that. “But I don’t gotta imagine anymore, do I?"

He’s bluffing. He _has_ to be bluffing. There’s no way a clumsy, loud boy like Scout with no concept of subtlety could have snuck in and out of his private rooms and touched his things without him noticing. A single wrinkle in his sheets, the slightest shift of the contents of a drawer, even the way a sock faced; all of these would tip him off.

Distracted by the fear that it is not a bluff, Spy jolts upward when a hand now slick with lubricant smooths down over his sensitive length. Panic at the realization that this is happening, that Scout is serious, that he’s really going to do this to him - to both of them - coils around every muscle in him. He has never begged, never broken or pleaded for anything in his life. His own teeth were pulled one by one in a filthy prison somewhere in China. He’s been beaten within an inch of his life in Brazil while in the midst of a severe narcotic withdraw. He was held captive in Africa and tortured in unspeakable ways. Not once did he crack. The spy that gives up is not only a failure, but a dead man. But looking up now at his own flesh and blood, filled with lust and fury and conflict, he stops being the spy.

“Scout, don’t do this. Please…” The way his voice cracks at the end makes his stomach churn. Again he closes his eyes to the scene.

“It’s all right, Daddy.” A gentle hand strokes his cheek, the thumb trailing down over his lips and jaw. “Ya don’t have to pretend now. I want this too.” The eerie pitch in those words sends chills down his spine. He dares to look again. “I love you, Daddy. I want you to love me too, so I can be yours.”

“Ryan… Stop.”

Scout smiles then, a strangely sad smile. “You used my real name.”

Instead of that deterring him, it seems to make his emotions stronger. He lunges forward, mashing his lips against Spy’s and sliding his tongue in, moaning and rubbing himself against him. It feels good and he hates that, but his body is wanting now. The soft delicate feel of young lips and slender, fit muscles against him elicit a small, helpless moan from him. Without even realizing what he’s doing, he starts to kiss back, working his own tongue into Scout’s eager mouth. A loud grumble escapes him this time and he leans his head up to deepen it. The boy’s mouth is sweet, though there is no surprise there. It’s a wonder he eats anything that doesn’t contain sugar at all.

As the lips break away from his, he tries to follow, his mind going numb. The ties holding his wrists keep him in place though, and he flops back, flushed and confused.

“Do you want to fuck me now, Daddy?” Scout whimpers, even as he spreads a huge glob of lubricant over his fingers and starts working them inside himself.

Spy shudders, eyes half-lidded as he watches the sinful scene, no longer able to deny the physical reactions. His son is making the most incredible sounds, grinding his ass back against his own hand as he preps himself. But that’s the problem. It’s his son making those sounds. It’s the boy he gave life to wanting him to do this. His head is spinning as Scout leans back, wriggling his small round ass over the tip of his cock. He wants to tell him no, to stop again, but the only sound that comes out is a pathetic wail as the younger man starts to sink down, taking him inside him.

“Daddy! Daddy I’ve wanted this for so long! Oh fuck! It’s so big!” Scout grabs his hips, pushing himself down faster than should be possible for a virgin. No, he’s definitely been using Medic’s… toys. “Yes! Oh Daddy, fuck me!”

Tears fall from his eyes and he grits his teeth, despising himself for what he’s doing, for it feeling good. How dare he derive pleasure from this, from something so immoral and despicable as incest? He wished he would just stop calling him ‘Daddy’. But it’s like he’s doing it on purpose, for the kink and the wrongness of it as much as just to torment Spy, punish him for not being around all those years. 

That ass is so tight, warm and wanting as it clenches over his member. Scout lowers himself all the way to the hilt, crying out and bucking in his lap a few times, all the while cursing up a storm. He rolls himself around, panting and working up a sweat before lifting himself up, almost enough to let Spy pull out, but not quite. He catches the attempt though as Spy tries in vain to sink back against the mattress and slams his body back down. A broken scream escapes his lips.

“Daddy’s cock is gonna destroy me! It’s gonna rip me apart!”

Scout starts really using him, bouncing on him with all the vigor and energy to be expected from the boy. He’s making so much noise, something in between cries of pleasure and pain, and Spy can’t be sure whether he’s enjoying this at all. Perhaps he feels the same way Spy himself does. Shame nauseates him even as the hot sparks of pleasure fire along his cock with every movement. It doesn’t matter either way, the boy keeps on fucking himself on his erection, gasping when he’s not shouting or moaning. He notices Spy’s tears in time, and leans back over him, rolling his body in waves to keep taking him in and out again. He manages a sloppy kiss before grinning as he wipes away tears.

“It’s your own fault, Daddy. I didn’t even know you were my real dad. You should be ashamed, bein’ all handsome like that and fuckin’ with my head all this time.” Scout shakes his head, letting out a sad, bitter little scoff. “Ya know, I just wanted a dad. What fuckin’ kid doesn’t wanna say ‘I love you, Daddy’ and have him be proud of him and shit?”

He stares back up at him, wide-eyed and unable to reply as he kisses him again. There’s nothing else to do as Scout leans back up and goes back filling himself roughly with his member. Skin slaps against skin the harder he goes, impaling himself on Spy’s dick with breathy, high-pitched noises. He does his best to fight how good it feels, that tight hole taking him so readily. As a spy, there is one thing he has always known, and that is the power of sex should never be underestimated. The need one’s body experiences when aroused can be used to control the most stubborn and loyal subjects. Bound as he is now, filled with pleasure he doesn’t want and a hundred other overwhelming emotions that only add to his need for release, his mind is slipping. Images of him grabbing Scout and bending him over the desk and ramming him start teasing his senses. His hands, though almost numb, are twitching with an itch to touch the boy, to make him really lose control. What sounds could he extract from that needy young body if he were permitted to be in control? The thought excites and infuriates him, and soon his hips start jerking up to meet the boy.

“Oh fuck! Yes, Daddy, yes! Fuck me harder! Give it to me!” Scout’s wailing picks up anew, his voice cracking and hoarse but still pretty somehow.

“This is what you want from a father then?” Spy says, his tone matching his anger. “You should have just said so, you could have been sitting on my cock since we came to this miserable place.” He uses every ounce of strength and energy in his body to pummel himself upwards, making his son scream as he fucks him back.

So this was it. All his years as one of the best damn spies the world of espionage had to offer, and he’s been broken by a loud-mouthed boy born from his own seed. Pathetic, and disgusting. Perhaps when this is finished he’ll walk out of Respawn range and blow his own brains out. It’s better than having to face the rest of the team again, let alone her.

Scout is crying now, despite pleading for more and rubbing his hand over his own cock in frantic jerking motions. The trails of tears make a mess of his already red and sweaty face. By the way he’s clenching down on Spy’s invading member, he has to be getting close. Good. Then this can all be over with.

“You’re going to come, aren’t you?” he pants, slamming up into him.

“Yes!” His free hand grips Spy’s thigh, holding on for balance as he rides him. “Yes, Daddy! Please, make me come! Come in me, too, won’t you?"

Even in his frustration and guilt-driven, angry lust that thought sickens him. Marking his son with the same seed that gave him life is the final insult to all of this, and he has to wonder if that was Scout’s plan all along. But it’s too late. He needs to release, and if it’s inside Scout then so be it. A few more furious jerks is all it takes to make the boy lose control, and strings of thick white liquid squirt out of his cock, landing all over Spy’s torso. He doesn’t pull off yet, and at this point Spy doesn’t want him to just yet. He revels in the sick fury inside him, his stomach pitching at the come cooling on his chest even while the heat builds up in him. 

Keening and overstimulated, Scout rolls his eyes back and grips both of his thighs to hold on, like he’s on some rodeo ride.

_Maybe he should go fuck the Engineer next time he’s in heat,_ Spy thinks with malice he knows he’ll later regret. Not now though. Now he’s content to piston his hips upward as his shameful orgasm rockets through him and he fills his son with his load, cursing in French.

He holds himself up, shaking and convulsing a few more times until he is spent in earnest before he collapses back to the bed. His chest is bright red, spotted with the white globs of his son’s release, and he can only imagine how his face must look. The tips of his fingers are tingling now, but that won’t matter much after a respawn. Any nerve damage there will be fixed. The silence is agony now. Scout is sniffling and hanging his head, staring at his body and the mess of semen and sweat that covers both of them.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” he whispers.

Spy’s heart shatters. “It’s not your fault, Ryan."

Scout collapses on him, clinging and sobbing like the child he never got to see him be. Now he wishes the ties were undone, not so he can push him away, but so that he can hold him. Perhaps the most fascinating thing about the power of lust is that for something so intense, it lasts for such a small time. Once the built-up need is released and the pleasure subsides, reality crashes back into one, along with any remorse from the mistakes made. Not unlike a drug. In fact, maybe a bit too much like a drug.

“Please… forgive me. Don’t tell Ma…”

“Shhh. I won’t. Untie me."

Thankfully he obeys without arguing, picking up the Black Rose where he’d set it so tauntingly just out of reach and cutting through the ropes. He does his legs first, and then his wrists, an order that seems odd until he’s done and flinches away, convinced Spy is going to hurt him now. After a tired, sad sigh, he grabs a blanket and drapes it over his son’s shoulders. His hands are red and feel swollen, but still responsive. Taking Scout’s arm, he pulls him down to sit on the bed, smoothing the few little locks of dirty blonde hair away from his face.

“You were right. This… this is my fault. We’ll just forget this ever happened, oui?” Spy keeps his tone as soft as possible and he gets a small nod of affirmation. It’s a start, at least. “Now go get cleaned up, mon fils.”

Spy waits until the boy has left before pulling Ambassador from the drawer to his right, his mind reeling as he checks each bullet in the revolver. The act is force of habit. He is nothing if not meticulous. Scout left his knife back where he’d gotten it, and he sees his clothing draped over the high-backed chair in his bedroom. With a sigh, he strolls over to the chair and starts checking his pockets. Another automatic thing of his; he doesn’t expect the balaclava to be rolled tri-folded and tucked into the lower inside pocket of his suit coat. He'd almost forgotten it was off.

... ... ...

The young boy clutches the blanket around him and slips out of Spy’s room with a light shiver. The halls are chilly still, and the air calls up goosebumps on his bare skin. At least he won’t be noticed leaving. He smirks, giving himself a bit of mental praise for the perfect slight of hand that got him his watch back just as he was leaving. Twisting his wrist to the side, he fastens the Cloak and Dagger back on and activates it. So long as he makes his trip slow, no one will know a thing.

The BLU base is still quiet when he gets back. It’s only 4am so Soldier isn’t up yet, which means no one else has to be. He’s free to return to his smoking room and celebrate his little triumph in peace. He cleans himself up and pulls on a robe before pouring himself some wine. In truth, he is surprised how well his counterpart played into his hands. In the beginning, the BLU Spy had thought it through, calculated every risk of the trick not working. Now he can has accomplished the first step. The brat will be estranged from his father in no time, and RED Spy will be all his.

Spy chuckles to himself, raising a glass for a toast alone. “Here’s to a father’s love for his son.”


	2. Chapter 2

The next step is the RED Scout, and he'll be even more fun. He just has to grab him when he's away from his team; he wants to hear him scream. Spies are not necessarily brutal by nature, but when it suits their purposes, they can be crueler than anyone. Scout is loud and obnoxious, and also rather fixated on taking out his daddy issues and frustrations on the enemy Spy. That has been the case all along, but more so since he got the confirmation from his Ma. It doesn't matter that it was Spy who'd made that call. The RED is still Scout's father, and that makes his game almost too easy.

The Scout goes in to town every chance he gets, trying to pick up women with so little brains and self respect that fried chicken is a suitable segue for sex. He has even had success, a fact that baffles everyone. Well tonight he's getting sex, but not the sort he wants.

Spy doesn't have to use the disguise kit for this one. Snatching a suit from RED's storage has been his only preparation for this. He adjusts the red tie and smoothes his hands over the front of the pinstriped burgundy suit. Not a bad color, truth be told, but he looked better in blue.

Tuefort is not a very large town, and is populated with lead-poisoned imbeciles. Saturday is a prime time for the mercs to head into town and get drunk or fucked, ideally both. Neither Spy is fond of the place, but sometimes it beats spending the night in the base. He makes sure RED chose the latter, brooding on his own traumatic assault the previous night, before making trailing the boy. He isn't hard to track, and soon Spy is sauntering into the bar where Scout is leaning close to a rather top-heavy redhead.

"Yeah, so ya see, I got a real dangerous job over in that mill. Lotsa those guys would be dead without me!" Scout is boasting as he meanders into earshot.

"Or we are lucky to be alive despite you," he says.

Scout spins around so fast he almost falls off his bar stool. Spy ignores him for the moment, offering a short bow to the girl. 

He layers every bit of charm into his smile. "Excuse-moi, cher Mademoiselle, but I must speak with my colleague but for a moment. Please, forgive my rudeness."

She flushes, most likely seeing the contrast between the idiot who was just making a pass for her and a real man. "Oh, well... I'll be here for a while if you-- the two of you want to join me."

Scout is fuming. Good, let him get angry, let his hate build up. It will only make his demise sweeter. 

He manages to keep him under control until he can pull him out of the bar and into a side alley. Then the boy explodes. 

"What the fuck man? What the hell was that for? It ain't enough that I gotta fucking put up with your stupid face at work, ya gotta come in and cock block me in my off hours now, too?"

Spy lets out a long sigh, rolling his eyes and letting the brat go on for a bit. It gives him time to flip open his kit and extract a single white-wrapped cigarette; he's been careful to switch them out from his preferred black-wrapped brand. Though he is quite sure Scout isn't observant enough to catch that, Spy is thorough. He wouldn't be any good at his job if he were not.

"And another thing, I don't care what Ma says, there ain't no freakin' way I'm ever gonna call you 'Dad', asshole. You are not my _dad_!" He seems set on making a fuss. Typical.

He sucks on the end of the smoke, disappointed in the flavor. The Black Russians have more body and are far more satisfying. It is better than nothing at all, he reminds himself. After a long inhale, he blows the smoke toward Scout.

"What the fuck man!"

"Are you quite finished?" he asks, his tone smooth and calm.

"No! I--" But it's evident he can't think of anything else with his limited intellect and he shrugs, deflated. "Yeah, I guess."

"Good. Come with me." Spy flicks his half-smoked cigarette aside.

"What? No way, I ain't goin' anywhere with you! It's Friday night and gettin' some tail. And I don't need a wingman!"

He gives an overdramatic sigh, imitating his counterpart's too-serious countenance. "I see. Then I'll just tell Miss Pauling you weren't interested--"

"Whoa! Hold on, what about Miss Pauling?" 

Hook, line, and sinker. So predictable.

"Oui. She said she had a special contract that suited your abilities."

"A contract? And she asked for me?" Scout's eyes are wider and brighter than ever. Pathetic and unsuspecting; despite everything the boy is still so naive.

It is difficult to fight the grin that tugs at the corners of his mouth and remain apathetic in appearances. The foolish boy's stupid, hopeful smile is too much.

"Oui. Not this usual team versus team nonsense they have us on. _Real_ mercenary work." He pulls out another cigarette. Despite the taste, it's better than nothing. "You seem surprised," he says, tone disinterested.

Scout balks and shakes his head, stepping back as if struck. "What? No! Of course I ain't! Course she thought of me, cause I'm the best!"

Spy rolls his eyes. Scouts are always denying their insecurity with false bravado. "Yes, yes, of course. Are you coming after all then."

The boy eyes him with suspicion, but he's not clever enough to read through any of this. "Yeah, okay. But don't try anythin' funny, all right? You've been actin' frickin' weird all day."

_Have I, now?_ Once the boy strolls over to him, glaring up with begrudged resignation, Spy gestures back to the main street.

He leads him out of the center of Teufort, wrinkling his nose as they pass the ill-placed town dump. A stray cat and dog have started a squabble over a half-empty can of something. The cat hisses and growls low in her throat, fur standing straight up, and smacks the dog on the nose each time it gets too close. Scout grabs a plastic bottle and hurls it at the dog. With a surprised yelp, the mongrel hops back and runs along, leaving the cat to its meal.

"And the purpose of that was... what, exactly?"

A shrug. "I dunno. Stupid dog was harrassin' it. Bet it could do your job. That's all you do, right?" he says, grinning.

Spy bristles but maintains his composure. The boy will regret every word out of his mouth soon enough.

"I assure you, if either of these shabby animals can be likened to myself, it is the cat. Independent, silent, clever, and deadlier than most realize." It is in fact a nice comparison, if not to that particular cat. Though with proper food and a bath, it could clean up to be a noble little beast. "The dog, however," Spy continues, "now that one suits you. Loud, graceless, and prone to drooling." He chuckles.

"Yeah, okay. Screw you, Spy." He has been kicking a soda can along in front of him as they walk, and it is only when it bounces off of a dead-end in the sidewalk that he seems to notice. "What the-- Ain't this the old warehouse? What's Miss Pauling doin' here?"

Spy revels in the doubt a tiny bits of fear in his prey's eyes. Almost, he reminds himself, though the anticipation is already sending sparks to his groin. "You don't know? She has to be discreet," he says.

The younger man's eyes narrow on him. "Why not on base? ...Spy what's goin' on? What kinda joke you up to?"

"Oh, this is not a joke, mon fils, trust me." He sneers, knowing now they're here the boy's stubborn curiosity will lead him inside.

One final glance around the street, squinting into the inky black past the flickering street lamps, confirms he has the area to himself. He slips into the old warehouse just behind Scout, and his body is already tingling.

"Yo... Miss Pauling? Turn on the light, I can't see shit in here!"

The metal door slams closed and Spy makes quick work of wrapping the heavy chain back through the handle to secure it. With both ends locked together by a padlock only Spy can find the key for, no one will be coming in or going out any time soon.

"Spy... What the hell are ya doin'? Where is the frickin' light switch?"

Pawing along the wall for a light switch, Scout manages to locate it, and Spy doesn't bother to stop him. Everything is in place now. 

He grins the broad grin he's been fighting when he sees the horror on the boy's face, and his cock twitches in his pants. "Change of plans, Ryan."

"I knew it! I knew this was some kind of fuckin' trap you lyin' backstabbing scumbag!" He steps away, wide eyes darting around the large open space of the warehouse. Nothing but old crates, empty save for a few scrap metal parts. 

Spy scoffs. "Then why did you follow me?" Without letting the boy answer, he steps toward him. 

"Well that's 'cause... Okay fine, you're not always that bad. You've helped me with her before." Scout huffs out a loud burst of air. "But you're being super weird and it's freakin' me out, okay?"

"I think it's time you learned some respect, boy. Like it or not, I _am_ your father, and you are going to learn to call me 'Dad'."

The younger man continues to step back as he advances on him, and it only makes this more exciting as he stalks him into the dim corner of the warehouse.

"No way! Fuck you, Spy!" Scout keeps his defiant gaze level on him, which is somewhat impressive given the slight tremble in his voice. He's scared, but holding his own. "You don't get to show back up now and pretend you care! Too late, pal!"

"Who said anything about 'caring', mon fils?" Spy circles around him, boxing him into the corner before he realizes it. "It is a simple matter of knowing your place."

Scout's aggression loses some of its steam, a look of hurt in his wide eyes. Of course he wanted his father to plead and ask forgiveness for disappearing so long ago. Spy wonders if his counterpart would have. After the events of last night, it is quite possible.

"Well, that's at the most honest you've ever been to me," Scout manages. 

He is the predator closing in as his gloved hand reaches out to grab the boy's chin. The Bostonian stays still, though he feels his jaw clench through the thin black leather of his gloves.

"Such a pretty face," he purrs.

His prey bristles but his half-hearted attempt to pull away is met with a firmer hold. "Cut it out!"

"Listen up, boy. You will do as Daddy says. I hate to make this any more uncomfortable that it already will be, for your mother's sake."

Scout spat in his face. His was stare pure loathing. "Fuck you."

"Non. It is going to be you getting fucked."

He doesn't give Scout time to process that and start his struggling, instead grabbing both his wrists and yanking them behind the boy's back. Being fast might be the younger man's job, but he knows how to gain the upper hand before an opponent has time to put up proper resistance. With one hand he is able to pin both Scout's arms crossed behind him, bending the limbs in such a way that too much fighting is excruciating for him. His now-free hand slaps over Scout's mouth and he steers him the rest of the way back into his corner. Spy pushes him against the wall and leans in until his lips touch the boy's earlobe.

"Oui. Daddy's going to fuck you, just like the little bitch you are. And I won't stop until you're begging for more." He slides his tongue along the edge of his ear, curing the tip inside like a snake as his captive attempts to protest. "Scream if you like. I chose this building especially for that purpose."

He smells the fear, feels the boy's muscles trembling under his grasp. "S-Spy c'mon... I get it, okay? Good joke, man. I'm sorry for bein' a jerk. Just... let's just go back to the base, all right?" His voice wavers, riddled with nerves, but he's trying to stay calm. Trying to hope this is a game.

Spy shifts enough that he can slip his leg between Scout's before the boy can stop him. He chuckles, hot breath on his prey's neck while he grinds his thigh against his groin.

"We will, mon fils. Just as soon as Daddy's filled you with his cum."

Scout convulses a little, gagging, and struggles. The hold he's in causes the resistance to pull his shoulder muscles, threatening to dislocate it, and he stops, arm spasming in pain. "Spy, please!"

"Non!" Spy slams him into the walls hard enough that the riveted metal lining clangs and echoes through the warehouse alongside Scout's plea. "Little boys don't call their fathers names or titles. I am your father and you will call me Daddy."

"S-Spy this is f-fucked up! Since when did you care?" Tears are forming in the corners of his eyes. Spy can't wait to make them fall in endless streams.

Always a master of unseen tricks or a slight of hand, Spy lets the handcuffs he's had tucked up his sleeve fall. They are slapped over the boy's wrists and snapped shut with a few clicks before he knows. He even steps back, leaving Scout to squirm and panic over them. Predictable as ever, the runner looks past him, back to the doors, and goes to make a run for it. Spy swings an underhand fist into his gut that doubles him to his knees.

"Honestly, boy, where did you think that would get you?" Spy sighs, rolling his eyes.

"What is wrong with you, Spy? Yeah you're a prick but... this?" he asks when he recovers, still kneeling. 

There is genuine hurt and confusion in his manner. Excellent. Likely some small part of the boy cares about his teammate, even secretly hopes something might be salvaged that resembles a father and son relationship. Time to obliterate that.

"Shut up!" Spy snarls, swinging a swift kick into his enemy's chest that throws him back. 

He descends upon him with a grin, his knife out in a flash to cut his shirt and then his trousers. Straddling his hips keeps him pinned on his back and minimizes his struggles. Panic is starting to take hold in the boy's eyes. Spy drops his hand behind him, shoving Scout's trousers down enough to palm his cock through his boxers. A shiver runs through him that turns to wild electricity, triggering a rush of blood to his dick. He licks his lips, sneering as Scout wriggles.

"Behave for Daddy and maybe I'll let you feel good, too," he taunts.

"What the- Spy, this ain't funny anymore! Snap out of this! Please, Spy, please!"

Spy puckers his lips into a fake pout. "Awww mon lapin mignon, so scared. This is your duty though. A good son makes his father happy." 

While Scout looks on in terror, Spy lurches to his feet and flashes another toothy grin at him. Then he kicks him in the leg, the side of his ribs, his groin. He presses the toe of his dress shoes down onto Scout's balls until he's screeching for mercy.

"Please! Spy... Dad! Please, stop! C'mon man, please!" Scout's screams ring in his ears and he relishes them. 

Spy delivers a few more well-placed kicks before rolling Scout onto his stomach. Sobbing, he tries to crawl away. Spy has a grip on his pants though, and in the end he just helps undress himself.

"Look at you," he sighs, tossing aside Scout's cut and dirty clothes. "A scrawny Nancy boy like you could never win Miss Pauling's heart. You really fell for that, even so. Idiot."

"S-Shut up! You're the fag, stripping your own son! Jesus, what the fuck, Spy?" 

So, there is still plenty of backtalk left. Spy scoffs and stands, moving off to the side to pull out the bag he stashed behind an old barrel. Scout watches him, angry and wary and already bruising where Spy's kicks landed. He retrieves a thing of rope - the same kind he tied down the boy's real father with that night - from the bag and strolls back to Scout. They glare at one another for a moment, and Spy waits for that first telltale twitch in his prey's leg muscles that tell him to pounce. When he does, he grips Scout's shins together and coils the rope around him with practiced speed. With it tied securely, he drags the naked Scout writhing and half-shouting, half-crying away from the wall. 

He whips his belt off, letting the motion end in a purposeful snap. "It's about time you got disciplined, boy. A spanking from Daddy is long overdue."

Scout flinches the second time the leather snaps and Spy savors his fear a moment longer before taking his first merciless swing. The belt lashes across the soft pink flesh of the boy's ass and he screams. The sound is delicious and Spy's cock throbs in his pants. He keeps going, swipe after swipe with all his strength. Each one rips another exquisite noise from the younger man's lips. He convulses with the hits, sobbing and drooling, his face covered in the dirt and residue left on the old concrete floors. He begs him to stop, even gives in and cries 'Dad'. His ass cheeks start to blister under the surface. Finally the pain is too much. A hot yellow stream pools around his legs and he wails in shame. 

"Filthy brat. Can't even control your own bladder!"

"D-Dad... please," Scout chokes, eyes squeezed shut in pain and humiliation. "I'm sorry. Whatever it is I gotta do to fix this... Please just stop."

Spy circles him a few times, admiring his handiwork. His face is warm now, sweaty and making the balaclava miserable. After a brief moment of consideration, he reaches up and yanks it off, sighing at the touch of air on his flushed skin. He pulls out his disguise kit for a smoke, remembering when it opens he still doesn't have his brand. Irritated by that, he plucks one out and lights it anyway.

Scout doesn't even seem to notice him removing the mask. The skin on his ass is so raw and blistered that it has popped and bled in places. He's covered in dirt and sweat and urine and blood, like a disgusting animal.

"If you're going to act like a dog, I'm going to fuck you like one," he tells him.

Back to the bag, he retrieves a leather collar and leash. The boy is in too much pain to pay any heed to his attacker until the collar is being buckled around his neck. Even then he only whimpers.

"Pathetic." Spy grabs Scout's face and turns him to the side to look at him. "Do you recognize your father now, boy?"

The question is answered without words. Scouts eyes widen at the face he hadn't realized had been unmasked. Spy reads a mixture of horror in the rise of his brows, with hurt and betrayal in how they push together. So the boy has had some vague memories after all. Recollection that deep and buried will make his victim's undoing ever more delightful for him.

"...Why?" Scout manages at length. "Dad... what did I do? Why do you hate me?"

Too easy, but utterly enjoyable. "You're incompetent, an idiot, loud and graceless. You are a disappointment and disgrace. How could I present you as my son to anyone? I'd be a laughing stock! It is humiliating to think I have had a hand in your creation."

Spy drinks in his pain, the trauma and utter defeat that he sees in front of him. "Y-You... Dad?"

"I'm going to make a use out of you, don't worry. From now on you can be Daddy's cock hole." 

Spy moves behind the younger man and kneels down. After a long drag from the cigarette he scowls and puts it out on one of the burst blisters on his victim's behind. As Scout howls he yanks back on the leash, pulling him up to his knees. Scout coughs and wheezes a bit until he gets his weight distributed properly, hands still behind his back in the cuffs. Nothing is more thrilling than having a helpless fuck toy at his disposal. Especially one that cries so much. Spy undoes the burgundy pants and pulls his half-hard cock free, rubbing it and slapping it against the boy's raw ass until it is fully erect. He gives another hard slap with his hand to Scout's behind for good measure and gets a yelp as his reward.

"Please, Dad... Please don't."

He lines up his cock, spitting on his hand and slicking his erection with it just enough to make the penetration comfortable enough for himself.

"Please! I ain't ever done this!"

Spy bites the boy's shoulder hard enough to almost break the skin. He shudders as Scout's broken cry from that goes right into his dick. A moan of anticipation escapes him as he works the head in between Scout's ass cheeks.

"No! Oh god, no! Please, Dad, don't do this to me!"

It takes a few tries but he manages to shove the tip inside the sobbing, wriggling boy's unused hole. The tightness is intoxicating and he forces the rest in as fast as he can. Scout's bloodcurdling screams hurt his ears, but rough tugs on the leash break them. Sobbing in agony, the boy's eyes roll back and he gags reflexively. Spy grins and thrusts against him.

"Oh, mon putain, Daddy is going to have fun destroying your hole," Spy groans into his ear, sliding back out only to worm himself back in. "Such a tight boy cunt."

"S-Stop... don't say that!" Scout whines.

Spy slips out, replacing his cock with two fingers, then four, with as little care or regard for comfort as possible. He thrusts his fingers in and out, noticing a bit of blood smearing around the clenching entrance that dampens his gloves. No surprise, given how violent Scout's first time is. It excites him further though, and he hurls his hand up past the knuckles, a firm grip on the leash stifling Scout's protests.

When he can stand it no longer, he pulls his hand out and pushes his throbbing length back in. It goes in easier now, but no less painfully for his victim judging by his cries. Spy begins to fuck him in earnest, thrusting into the damaged ass with everything he has, choking him as he does so. He calls out insults, tells him he's worthless. Reminds him this is the only thing Daddy will ever want him for. Each push and pull thrills Spy's nerves while destroying the boy's. But Spy has the stamina to hold out, waiting until the Scout is broken. He ravages him, slamming him to the ground so he can pummel into him with his weight. He forces him onto his side, holding his bound legs up and out and pulling him back onto his cock. When Scout is too hurt, too demoralized to fight back, he uses his knife to cut the rope from his legs. They fall like rubber to either side of the Spy and he holds Scout up by the hips, pistoning into him.

"Look at me!" he shouts. He is sweating through the stolen suit as he holds the blade of his knife up to Scout's cock. "Open your eyes and watch Daddy fuck you or I'll cut it off!"

Scout's eyes open, more tears pouring out. The life and energy the boy is known for has gone. He stares back with empty eyes. The determined fire is snuffed out, leaving a fuck doll whose purpose is to please Spy. His voice went hoarse and then was gone from yelling. Tears are flowing down his face without any pause. 

Spy grins and licks his lips at the vision beneath him. Wrapped in the euphoria of his victory, his body vibrates with pleasure and he lets out a long, low groan as his orgasm builds and overwhelms him. He jerks his hips a few more times, feeling his release leave him and stain the boy deep inside, where he can never be clean of it. He rides out a few more waves before pulling out, smirking at the slight spots of red that tint the cum leaking from Scout's destroyed ass. The blisters are still oozing as well, no doubt painful pressed against the concrete where Spy leaves him. He uses Scout's cut up shirt to wipe himself off and pushes his cock back into his briefs.

"That's what you're good for now, Ryan. Daddy is going to mark you with his cum until it's all you want."

Scout's response is a few tiny whimpers and sniffles as he sobs. He considers sending the brat back through Respawn, but he's not sure the warehouse is in range. Beyond that, the real RED Spy might be around near enough to make such a fast return on the rogue’s part impossible, giving Spy away. It's just as well, leaving Scout here to writhe in pain and humiliation until he can limp back home on his own. Spy revels in that final torment as he unlocks the Scout's handcuffs.

The boy just curls away from him, covers his face, and cries.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies to everyone who was waiting on me to continue this filth. I know I took forever and I hope the wait was worth it. Nothing gross happens in this chapter, just excessive angst, trauma, and your Daily Serving of Scout tears.
> 
> I didn't run it through spellcheck so forgive any typos or god-awful misspellings please.

Scout whimpers, curling tighter around himself as the stream of cold water numbs his skin. The hot ran out a while ago, after he crumpled to the shower floors, and he still hasn't mustered the energy to get to his feet. It isn't just the pain, though he keeps trying to tell himself that. Thing is, they go through god awful pain every day. Just holler to the doc, grab a healthpack, or worst case go through Respawn again. Makes your stomach churn and your head ache something awful, but it beats dying for good. 

Except he doesn't know if he believes that right now. Maybe death - true, permanent death - is the only way to stop the pain he feels now. Deep, agonizing, and suffocatingly cruel pain. 

A week ago he had no dad. Just a smug French coworker whose charm was infuriating. Then his ma decided to choose the holidays to tell him the truth, like now they could all have some nice fucked-up family or something. He still hadn't accepted it. Not until Spy took off his mask and demolished Scout's wall of denial that was sixteen years in the making.

He'd recognized that face. Remembered him. And then it was all familiar. The smell of his cigarettes and cologne, the sound of his voice, and the blue of his eyes. The same blue as his own. 

Never trust a spy. They all say it, they all know it. He realizes now he had trusted Spy, blindly so. Even while insulting him and saying otherwise, he never really questioned the man. He walked right into that warehouse like a naive puppy. 

_I'm so fuckin' stupid... I deserved this._

Scout doubles over, wretching on the tiled floor. Not much is left in his stomach by now though. He needs to get up and go back to his room. If anyone sees him right now, he doesn't know if he can keep it together. Even if he could, he's afraid of how bad he must look. He still hasn't brought himself to look in a mirror, but he can see the bruises on his body. They'd drag him to Medic, and by dawn everyone would know Scout had been fucked by the Spy like a little fag.

That's all he is now, though. No girl's ever going to touch him. He is going to have to quit, too. He can't face his teammates - his friends - now. Confronting Spy is out of the question, too; the mere thought makes his insides churn with dread. The man who is supposed to be his father has made it clear he's not done with him. He intends to keep going, to break him further.

What hurts even more is that he can't go home. How's he supposed to look his ma in the eyes? And his half-brothers already kind of hate him, so it's not like he can go to them. He doesn't know where to go, but he can't be here.

By the time he's pulling himself up against the wall on weak and aching legs, it's decided. He has to leave. No goodbyes, just running away like the coward he knows he is. No more playing pranks with Pyro, no more of Engie's barbecues, no more drinking nights with Demo. Maybe he'll miss Sniper and Heavy even more, for all their patient half smiles and forgiving natures. Hell, even Solly's yelling during training and Medic's creepy grins during surgery pinch a nerve when he thinks of leaving them behind. It doesn't drag any more tears up, though. He used those all up tonight, dragging himself back.

He has to have been in the shower for an hour, but he's not clean. He'll never be clean. Maybe it's his imagination, but he keeps thinking he can feel the Spy's seed still inside him. He tried to push it out, sitting in utter defeat and humiliation on the toilet crying. Now he knows it's no use.

So he towels off and moves to the mirrors, hand shaking harder when he lifts it to wipe away the mist on them. The sight of his own swollen, cut, discolored face almost makes him sick again. He recoils, but forces himself to take inventory. His entire torso is covered in bruises, too. Harsh, bright ones that lift slightly from his smooth skin - what little is left unmarred, that is - decorate his rib cage and abdomen where Spy struck him. Purple finger-shaped marks are scattered horizontally over his hips, leading back over his ass. Without even twisting around, he can see the red hue or his burned and blistered butt cheeks. Sitting on the tiled floor probably made those worse, he realizes with a faint wince. For some reason, the worst to look at is a distinctive red welt going all around his neck from where the collar had been. Like a dog, he'd said.

It's 04:00 by the time he's headed to his room, and he is careful he doesn't cross paths with any teammates. He puts his mind to the process of making packing quick, stuffing a dufflebag with a few essentials. Both the kitchen and Resupply are on the other end of base, past everyone else's rooms, so it looks like he has to leave his Scattergun and extra cleats behind, and make due with the snacks he has stashed in his room. He doesn't care much, especially about the later. He can't imagine he'll have much of an appetite soon.

Everything's numb, and he can't get a clear head. It doesn't matter what he brings; he's probably going to die anyway. Perhaps Spy will hunt him down for fear he'll tell ma, which would be stupid. As if Scout could bear the shame, and her hating him. Mann Co might catch him and drag him back for trying to break contract. 

A dizzying feeling of surreality begins to overtake him. He can't process anything around him as solid, like he's going through motions without changing a thing. The bag is full enough. Solly won't start getting people up until 08:00. They get to 'sleep in' on weekends, after all. The room has a bed, and he's not getting anywhere like this.

Scout sinks down onto the top of it, not even pushing the blankets aside. The pain never stops, but now he is weightless. There is relief in not having to support himself. He fumbles for the alarm clock Engie gave him, feeling a pang of guilt that he won't be saying goodbye, and sets it for two hours out. 

\--

The sound of someone banging on his door while he's sleeping is commonplace enough in the base that at first Scout thinks nothing of it. He can't remember any specifics, but his dreams were dark and relentless; he's still tired, and uninterested in Soldier's stupid morning rituals. 

"Scout? Open the door, please!"

Well, that isn't right. Solly doesn't say please. He doesn't sound like a fancy French asshole either. 

Scout squints out from under the pillow he has over his eyes. The sky is an assortment of fading flame orange and yellow, mingling into darker and darker blue. He blinks blearily and fumbles for the alarm clock, reading the short hand on the eight, the minute about forty-past or so. His vision is blurry.

"Scout... Please, we need to talk. I... I'm not angry with you, okay?"

Fuck Spy. As if he cares whether he's mad at him or not. He doesn't even recall what he did, but he's sure he'd do it again. His ma wouldn't believe that backstabbing scumbag over him anyway.

Setting the clock down just short of missing the edge of his night table, Scout frowns. Something isn't right; 08:40 is awfully late for a sunrise, and it doesn't really feel like sunrise.

"Scout, answer me!" Spy's voice hollers from opposite a heavy wood barrier. Maybe it's the hint of aggression in his tone that violently pulls Scout out of his haze of denial.

He's only half dressed. The bruises that cover him start hurting all at once, no longer disconnected from his senses by the fragile barricade sleep had built. Everything hurts. Packed in a haphazard heap on the floor is his large dufflebag. Scout's heart stops, and his lungs cease to pull in air. He's supposed to be gone, because it's not 08:40, it's 20:40. He slept right through an entire day.

Spy can't even wait a full day before wanting to add more marks. Or maybe he just wants to admire the black and blue, the blisters and burns from his cigarettes.

Body shrieking in protest, Scout clambers off the edge of the bed. Tears are pouring out of his eyes from the sheer agony of getting to his feet, and he has to cover his mouth to silence the sob. He can't run like this; he can barely walk. Pain is shooting up his backside, deafening in its intensity. It's not like dying. Not even the BLU Pyro's flamethrower compares, because for all that hurt, the shame and humiliation is absent. Each step he takes jars the muscles of his ass, feeling like a new violation of its own. 

"That's it, I'm letting myself in."

Metal clicking sounds spur Scout's feet into action, and soon he's yanking on a shirt despite the aching skin it touches flaring up. Every effort he makes is accompanied by broken whimpers, but he has to get away. He can't look at Spy; he knows he'll freeze in place like a dumb animal, too stupid to fight or run. Like that jackrabbit Sniper hit with his camper. The old bushman had felt bad, but Spy isn't even capable of remorse, he knows it. He's not going to wait to be assaulted in his most intimate of areas another time.

Crying out as the straps of his duffle press into his sore shoulders and weeping at the chaffing of fabric on his bruised ass and cock, Scout hobbles to the window. No one is below, thank god, and he fights to get it open. Behind him, Spy is cursing at the lock. He needs to fucking hurry up, but he can't draw attention. Angling his Sandman under the edge of the frame, he uses the bat to leverage open the old window. He almost starts sobbing harder with relief, even as his body trembles from the effort of resisting the pain while he squeezes himself out onto the small porch roof under the window. 

He rolls off to the side, panting from the effort, heart pounding. He can't rest yet; he hasn't even made it ten yards, and Spy will be through the door any second now. Finding his fear of the Frenchman as the driving force he needs, Scout crawls out further along the edge of the lower roof and checks again to confirm no one is about. His arms are shaking and weak, not trustworthy to lower him down, but he doesn't have many options. The sound of the door back inside his room slamming open has him throwing his duffle over and dropping himself down with a minimal amount of stumbling. At least he manages to make a run for it before Spy shouts behind him, "Ryan!" He never thought the sound of his own name would make him want to be sick. 

The orange light is fading fast, a fact that could make his getaway easier, except that the darkness is Spy's realm. His real tool, the element he's always relied on, is his speed, and that is all but obliterated by his injuries. He could have escaped if he'd woken up from his alarm, or fuck, maybe he'd have had a better chance if he'd left without trying to rest at all. There is no way to outrun him with him right on his tail, and he can't hide from the master of the art. 

As panic starts to consume him, Scout's eyes dart across the darkening perimeter of the base until they land on the solution. He feels a bit guilty, but he's got no other options. Engie's truck is right there, and he knows where the keys are hanging. The Texan is the kind of guy you don't want to mess with, as Scout has learned many times over. That's probably why he doesn't worry about hiding the keys. But Scout's not coming back after this, so he won't ever have to face that wrath. 

Secure in his escape plan, he forgets his pain for a fraction of a second, which turns out to be long enough for him to start bolting ahead like an idiot. He doubles over in pain, fighting to keep on his feet. If he falls he might never get back up. 

Heart pounding and ears ringing, he can only just make out Spy calling for him over the noise. It gives the illusion he's far away, like maybe Scout can afford another moment to rest. Even while a part of him knows it's lulling him into a false sense of security, he can't stop wanting to indulge the moment. It isn't until he spots a set of black jackboots, polished to a perfect shine, stepping into view of his lowered head, that Scout fully grasps just how bad of a fuckup it was to wait.

"Scout? What on earth are you doing?" he hears the German ask above him, genuine bewilderment in his tenor voice.

Shit. He can't outrun the doc in the shape he's in and he knows it. Instinct begs him to try though, and he wobbles back a few steps. 

Medic catches his arm effortlessly, but his eyes widen when Scout yelps in response and falls to his knees. The doctor releases him and is crouching down beside him just as soon. "Gott, what happened to you?"

He casts a wary glare up at the older man. Once he was stupid enough to trust Spy, after all. Turned out the man was happy to torture him even as his own flesh and blood. Why risk continuing to trust any of his teammates, or anyone at all, ever again? "Just leave me alone!" he snarls.

"Hmph. Well, that is a counterproductive attitude," the doctor huffs. He takes Scout's chin in his strong hand, still clad in the thick red rubber glove he prefers for battle. The grip is firm enough to make him wince, and he doesn't want to fight it, lest Medic get rougher. The man isn't one for bedside manner. "You are always eager to ask for my help for no more than a skinned knee. Now you look to need me more than ever."

"I'm... I'm just gonna go, Doc. Okay?"

Spy's voice is getting louder, rounder the corner Scout just stumbled past. "Scout, please! Get back--"

"Ja, over here, Herr Spy," Medic calls with mild disinterest, not bothering to turn that way or release Scout.

"No!" All the things that separate humans from animals leave Scout in that moment, and he's flailing and scratching to get away. He strikes out like a blind cat, clawing at Medic and falling back with a yelp of pain. 

Whatever happens around him in the next few minutes is a blur. Useless punches and kicks, screams and cries and shouts he can't tell apart. Nothing exists but a fervent desperation to escape. Even after he is immobilized, he takes a long minute to soak it in. 

Medic has him in a tight hold, hugging his back to his chest and making shushing sounds in his left ear. The grip hurts, but he doesn't register it as real pain, just an insufferable blockade to his escape.

Spy is crouched down in front of him, feigning an almost convincing look of concern. "Merde, who did this to you, mon fils?" the bastard asks. A prodigy of deceit, he'll have Medic wrapped around his finger in no time. He reaches a hand toward his cheek, and Scout snaps.

"No! No! Don't touch me! Doc, please! Keep him away! I'll do whatever ya fuckin' want just keep him away!"

The Frenchman jerks his hand back, pulling his best shocked and confused expression he can. "Scout, what is the matter with you?"

"Shut up! I don't wanna hear your fuckin' voice, you sick creep!" He's screaming as loud as his ragged, tired voice will permit, squirming in the doc's arms. Without any view of the Medic's face, he can't even guess how the man is reacting. It's all over for him if the German believes Spy first. 

"Doc, please? I'm beggin' ya, don't- don't let him... again." Scout's voice breaks into new sobs and he paws at Medic's powerful bicep with the arm he can still bend.

After a moment, Medic speaks in a soft voice, with just a hint of danger he recognizes is not directed at him. "Did he do this to you, Herr Scout?"

"Mon Dieu! You cannot be serious, Ansel!" Spy protests.

"I asked the boy, Adrien."

Another time, he might have found the sudden use of personal given names curious, but he doesn't care what they call each other right now. As it is, the shame of having to tell Medic that his own fucking father did this to him has reduced him to mute, stifled sobs and a frantic nodding of his head. 

"Ryan-?" Spy balks, helpless as he casts an imploring look at Medic. "I- I don't understand! You can't believe I would-"

"Enough, Herr Spitzel." There is no mistaking the sharp contrast in how he addresses the Frenchman. "Until I know more about what has happened, I suggest you stay away from my infirmary. Your son will be staying with me."

Scout cringes at that last part. Of course Medic knowing is a given; he has all their medical records, with that 'D N A' stuff he keeps hearing about. Perhaps the doctor means to drive home how sick this all is to the Spy. Still, hearing Medic, of all people, turning on that rare stoic and protective side just for him, makes him dare to relax just a little. The German must feel the shift, because he loosens his grip. "Ja, come with me, Scout. The Medigun just needs to warm up."

He doesn't end up having to do anything, however. With the Spy so dumbfounded that he's failed to manipulate Medic, he just stands staring while the oldest mercenary lifts Scout right up like he were a child. For a moment he tenses from both pain and embarrassment. With one hand he grips the open edge of the man's lab coat until his knuckles are white. He feels pathetic, but he had looked pretty pathetic, too. 

"Docteur..."

A heavy sigh leaves him, deep enough that Scout feels his chest lift against his cheek. "Spy, bitte. Whatever did or did not happen, the fact remains that he obviously needs to be away from you right now."

"I... Oui. Je comprends." It's surprising that Spy backs off so quickly, but then the doc always has been the only one he treats with any caution. 

Fatigue is reclaiming his mind too fast for his liking, and he knows he needs to stay on his feet to keep alert. The rush of fear and pain from trying to escape has left him exhausted, though. Everything is a bit hazy, and he knows that Medic's unreliable nature means he's not safe. He hadn't wanted to be seen, but now that he has, he can get healed. At least then he can run.

Clinging to the older man as if he might suddenly drop him on a whim, he takes a deep breath. "D-Doc? You don't gotta... carry me," he mumbles.

"Beruhigen. Shush, we're practically there already."

Medic's voice seems deeper and more grounded when he can feel it vibrating in his chest, pressed up against the side of his face. Firm, but soothing, and free of that wild pitch it gets when he's excited about some weird surgery or whatever. The steady fall of his jackboots carrying the both of them through the halls begins to lull Scout into a bleary semi-sleep, and he closes his eyes.

"Don't let anyone... else see me like this," he mumbles. 

There is no response, because Medic doesn't make promises for anything he can't fully control. At least he knows Scout would rather avoid further encounters, so maybe he'll try. Or maybe he just doesn't give a damn. He can't ever tell with Medic. 

"Here we are," the German announces, voice still less airy than normal.

Scout pries his tired and swollen eyes open to see the Medbay doors, and despite how degrading it is to face the doctor like this, he can't deny the immense relief he feels. He's aware of his pain anew, reminded of it through his fatigue in the process of thinking about being healed. The promise of permanent relief brings fresh tears to his eyes that fall to soak Medic's coat as he pushes open the doors.

The cots in the infirmary are uncomfortable, worn out things, but Scout doesn't care. Soon he'll have the warm, tingling Medigun rays on him, erasing all the marks that bastard left on him. He's laid down on one with relative gentleness, at least for the Medic. It buckles and creaks a bit before accepting his weight. He fixes his attention on the way those white coat tails flap and twist about with every hurried movement. Doc's always kinda majestic in battle, on account of that coat looking like some kind of superhero cape. Even now, after everything that's happened to him, it's relaxing to watch him flurry about the room, gathering things. 

At last he wheels over the larger surgical Medigun, its low hum indicating it's charging. He spins a wheeled chair alongside the cot and sits down in what appears to be one fluid motion. "Now, sit up, bitte."

Scout doesn't care about arguing anymore. The Medigun is close and he just wants it all over with. He winces as he does so, and then cries out when he tries to shift into a less painful position. The scowl of Medic's face concerns him, though. Now he realizes that in the fading outdoor light, all the doc could have really seen were some bruises on his face, and his arm from grabbing him. He drops his eyes, hating the way he's looking at him.

"J-just use the Medigun already. Please?" He sounds pitiful.

He shakes his head. "That's not just a black eye, Scout. Your whole face is a mess... Wait, let me see your neck."

Scout shrinks back slightly from him as he reaches for the collar of his shirt, and Medic sighs.

"...Take off your shirt."

"What the- why? Can't ya just flip the switch and fix me?" There's panic in his voice he can't hide. He can't let Medic find out how fucked up this is.

Medic's serious countenance isn't softening. "Scout, take it off. I need to know how severe this is if I'm to treat it-"

"Bullshit!" he blurts out, unthinking. "Y-you fuckin' heal us every day without an exam or whatever!"

"Oh for Gott's sake, stop being a stubborn Schweinhund!" Tidal blue eyes narrow behind his small, round spectacles, and Medic reaches over to grip the base of his shirt until it starts to untuck. Images of Spy cutting his clothes from him flash through Scout's head and he jumps back.

"Stop!" He kicks out with one leg, knocking Medic back hard enough that the chair rolls away a foot. Every nerve in his body screams in agony as he slams back against the wall, just now aware that he's in a corner cot and has no place to escape to. Trembling, and with fat tears rolling down his bruised cheeks, he curls tighter into the corner, wishing he could disappear into the wall.

Medic stares, eyes widened and mouth parted in surprise. After several minutes, he breathes, "Mein Gott, what has he done to you?"

An involutary whimper leaves Scout, and he finds himself shaking his head. "Forget it. I have to go... Let me go."

"You think I'm going to ignore this? At this rate I'll be reporting it!" 

"No! God, no... no, no! Please, Doc! Fuck I can't even... I'd rather die than anyone else know!" He's begging like a baby, but he doesn't care. If anyone gets reported, all the other mercs will know, and probably his family, too.

"Then tell me what happened before I start drawing up a letter to Administration!" 

Compassion and kindness are things none of the team has ever associated with Medic. Even though his face is a pulp and his neck is all raw, all he is seeing is a nasty fight between men who kill for a living. What little patience and soft words he had for Scout were no doubt given because he knew Spy was his father. He'd hoped maybe his own reaction to seeing him made him take it more seriously, but that's seeming to wear thin.

With his options being exposure to everyone, or having to bare the gruesome details to the Medic, he sits forward from the wall. His hands are shaking and barely strong enough to pull his shirt free of his pants. He grunts in pain at the slightest friction from the garment. Pulling it over his head first, he wriggles to stay covered partially until the very end. Arms outstretched in front of him, Scout looks away and squeezes his eyes shut, and pulls his limbs from the sleeves.

"...Scheiss," Medic hisses.

Scout's heard that word a few times, and he knows to get a reaction like that out of a guy like Medic, he's got to look pretty awful. He'd rather not see the older man's expression; he can picture several anyway. Disgust, or horror, or pity. All make this more degrading than it already was. 

There's a faint whistle, like one of mild shock, to acknowledge the severity of his bruising. "What kind of pranks have you been pulling on him?" Medic utters, bewilderment in his voice.

Something snaps in Scout. The Medic thinks he did something to provoke this? Even if it were just an ass beating, it's too fucking much. 

Eyes snapping open, Scout levels a cold stare on him. "Are you fuckin' shitting me, Doc? You gonna tell me I asked for this, next?"

Medic's brows arc higher, and he appears about ready to speak, but he cuts him off.

"Fuck you! Fine, if it ain't enough he pounded me into the concrete, then how about this?" 

"Herr Scout, that is not-"

He's shaking so hard from pain and anger and too many ups and downs. His vision is blurred from fatigue and tears and the lids being swollen. Still he forces his legs to fall back over the edge of the cot and stands. As fast as he can, while his anger protects him, he fumbles to undo his belt and pushes his bottoms down. He gets a chance to see the German's eyes widen at the bruising there before turning his back to him, knowing the true reveal is there.

There is no sound. Not until his burst of rage subsides. It wasn't strong enough to guard the hurt beneath it, and now he's sniffling. Choking on silent sobs. He wishes he could die, but he's still registered in Respawn. A shuffle of stiff fabric and the clank of Medic's chair lifting back up makes him jump, but he's too afraid to move. He hears a few footsteps, then the rolling of a drawer, perhaps. The steps return, and something luxuriously warm and soft is draped over his trembling shoulders.

A blanket, but not the regular kind. This one's thick and plush, so soft that it doesn't hurt against even his most tender injuries. Medic folds it over him, making sure he's wrapped in it completely, before taking him by the arms and guiding him back around to face him. He grips his shoulders lightly now, eyes glassy and full of emotion no one even thought he was capable of. Scout doesn't have to say the words, and at once he realizes how relieved he is to not have to hide. He falls forward and crumples up against Medic, sobbing in earnest. 

Later, he'll have to talk. The doc might try to get him to stay, or to report Spy. For now, he just wants one person to trust, to just hold him and protect him and let him be weak.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It all started off as self-indulgent filth, a place to vent. Now it's turning into what's probably going to be an ongoing mix of utter depravity and touching emotional moments. I feel like it's rare to find both elements in the same fic, but I know there are others who enjoy both.
> 
> Makes me wish I'd actually bothered to give this thing a decent title though. You know there are like five pages on this site of fics called 'Daddy's Little Boy'. Christ.

The Medigun hums as it douses the room walls with a soft red glow. Scout blinks a few times, waiting for his heart to stop racing. Thank god he didn't wake up screaming like he used to with his night terrors. That's the last thing he needs, another reason for Medic to think he's pitiful. 

He rolls over in the bed, finding it softer and bigger than he remembered the infirmary beds being. Maybe he's still dreaming, or hallucinating. Sniper's always saying he bets he could get high off the Medigun if it were on long enough. There's a door on this side he can't recall either. It's been left ajar, and the tired, flickering fluorescent lights of the infirmary stream in. Weird. It's like a private room or something.

Stretching out experimentally over the mattress, he finds that most of the pain is gone, but his legs are tense and sore. One thing about the accelerated healing is that if he isn't constantly moving while the Medigun is on him, it makes his muscles stiff for a little while after. A few good runs take care of that, and it won't impede his escape too much. 

He lets out a sigh of relief and pulls himself into a sitting position, only to note there's still an ambiguous dull ache somewhere down there. It's bearable, but the reminder is enough to make his gut turn. The button-down white night shirt and boxers he's wearing are way too big for him, but there's a sense of security in that, as if he could disappear in them if need be. 

As he shifts in the bed, he disturbs a dove he hadn't noticed resting on the headboard. After puffing out its chest feathers, it gives an indignant coo and flutters out of the room. Perhaps Medic trained it to come fetch him if his patient woke up, because moments later he appears in the doorway, solemn as ever. Scout glances away. This is kind of messed up, seeing the German look so concerned about anyone.

A long pause precedes Medic's quiet question, and Scout realizes he might be just as unsure as him. "How is the pain?"

"Mostly gone," he answers, mumbling a little.

More silence follows, and then the doctor walks over to the edge of the bed. "Do you need anything? Something to eat?"

His stomach reels and churns at the mere thought of food, even after going a day and a half without eating. Between that and the several times he threw up, he can't imagine his stomach will respond positively to anything. 

"S'fine. I ain't hungry." Scout stares at his hands, which seem naked without the usual wraps, and traces a finger over the stitching of the quilted blankets.

"That is a first for you," Medic says.

While he ponders not gracing that with any response, he recalls how warm the doc's arms were. He doesn't deserve so much comfort, to the point that part of him wants to push it away. The other part of him is heartbroken when he imagines losing this rare closeness.

He gives a light shrug. "My stomach's sick," he admits. "I was so... freaked out. It's so messed up and twisted and I just... I kinda puked just 'cause I felt so gross or somethin'. I dunno." Now that he's telling someone, it sounds stupid; it just seems like a random reaction.

But Medic nods as if it makes perfect sense. "Ja. That is not unexpected, given how upset you were. Lie down, bitte. I'll be right back."

"Doc, please... I gotta go. Thanks for fixin' me up, but I need to leave," he mutters. 

Medic's face twists into a worried frown. "You need to rest. It hasn't even been three hours."

"...Oh." Scout blinks, only now remembering that most of the Medbay lacks any windows. Only the living quarters have natural lighting. 

He sighs, head dropping in resignation as Medic places a hand on his shoulder. The touch is faint and brief, and although he feels a bit nervous about contact right now, something about the German's presence makes him wish he didn't stop so soon.

"Give me just a few minutes, bitte." He turns to leave, not bothering to close the door back down.

With a heavy sigh, Scout sinks back against the pillows. Now that the door is pushed open more and his eyes have adjusted, he can see that this room appears a bit more personal than any part of the Infirmary. Several books rest on a small table by a well-loved armchair in the corner, and more still on the night table by the bed. Seated on the chair is a violin. Some of the others have told him the oldest member of the team plays, but he could never picture it. It's while staring with curiosity at the instrument that it hits him; the doctor must've moved him into his personal room. He's been laying in Medic's bed. 

A half-dozen ways to react to this situation hits him at once. For one, how awful and pathetic must he have looked that a man known for both his lack of compassion and a distaste for sharing pitied him enough that he brought him to his personal room? Another part of him is, in some irrational way, frightened. What if Medic suddenly gets mad at him? He's never had much patience for Scout hanging around before. Briefly, he imagines that Medic might be planning to use him just like Spy had. Reeling back from the thought, he drops his face in his palms. 

"God, what's wrong with me?" he whispers. "What an ungrateful ass I am." He feels his throat tighten again, and his sinuses tingle, but he lacks the energy to fight it. One single, choked sob escapes him and he tucks his legs tighter towards his chest. The first leads to a second, and then a third, wracking his exhausted frame. 

A few minutes pass before Medic's heavy jackboots thudding against the floor announce his return. Scout lifts his head, sniffling. He goes to wipe his eyes with the back of his hand, and only then does he realize there is barely any trace of tears. He wipes at them a few more times, confused.

"You're dehydrated," Medic explains. His voice is soft and calm, and it's still something of a morbid wonder to see how sobered the man is. "Here. This will soothe your stomach and get some liquid in you."

Tears or no, Scout's eyes still won't focus. Medic is holding what appears to be a mug out for him. He struggles to stop seeing doubles but gives up. "What is it?" he asks, but still holds his hands out as the mug is passed into them. The sides are hot, but not enough to hurt.

"Ginger tea."

"That's it?" Scout sniffs it with curiosity. It smells kind of like Pyro's cooking. It makes his head feel clearer just breathing it in.

"Ja, I am afraid it is nothing exciting," he says with a sigh. The way his voice goes airy for a heartbeat makes him sound a bit more like himself. "Sometimes all the medicine in the world is no match for an ancient remedy. Even I must confess that."

"Oh." What faint light there is reflects off the liquid's surface. Scout attempts a sip, but he can't help make a face at the bitter taste.

Medic is watching him, quirking an eyebrow. "It can't be that bad. I put honey in it."

Wincing, he forces himself to take another swallow. "I think it needs the whole beehive, Doc," he says. 

The doctor just sighs and frowns faintly at him. "You need to stop drinking nothing but irradiated sugar. It's a wonder you can taste anything at all. Your tastebuds are--" Medic stops abruptly, cutting his lecture off. His speech has been edging closer to the impatient ranting he's so often engaged in, but he reigns himself back to his softspoken mannerism. "Nein. Forget I said anything. But at least try to drink, bitte."

There isn't much reason to argue, and he doesn't want to be a dick when the doc is trying, so he relents and forces himself to keep swallowing the bitter beverage. The German doesn't leave, as if he suspects Scout might try to get rid of the drink if he's not looking. It's a bit like when his ma used to stand over him until he drank all his milk or ate all his peas. When he's had about half of it, though, he puts the mug on the night table and revels in a long, deep breath. Then he glances at Medic with curiosity.

"Hey, uh, Doc? Why'd you put me in your bed? Don't you gotta sleep?" He cringes internally, hoping he doesn't sound ungrateful now.

"It's much more comfortable. I don't think I could sleep tonight anyway. Someone should keep awake here in case... Well, it's just a good idea."

"...Thanks, Doc." He's said it so many times, but up until now, those words were enough. A quick call of appreciation on the battlefield before bolting back into the fight. A 'thank you' now is trivial in comparison to what he's doing. "I mean, not just for healin' me... but... y'know. Everythin'," he adds, too quietly.

Medic nods in response, but he doesn't meet his eyes. Maybe he's disappointed in Scout. It would be fair for him to be, after all. He's supposed to be a mercenary, and he couldn't even protect himself against the fucking Spy. 

"I'm sorry," Scout adds in mumble. "I know it's pathetic..."

"Nein."

"I just kinda... I froze up c-cause it's him, ya know? Even if he weren't my... fuck, even before that h-he's on our team... he never--" 

He loses track, and Medic bends down to put his hands on either of his shoulders. Scout swallows, but it doesn't do any good, and he finds himself shaking. He blinks, teary-eyed, but still unable to muster true tears. Lost for any other words, he can think of just one question. "Why?"

It's probably just his imagination that makes him think Medic's eyes seem watery behind his round spectacles. His own eyes are fuzzy and damp, and all the light sources are from the main room just behind the older man. Only the red glow of the Medigun lights this room. 

"I don't know, Scout. I never would have imagined he would do something like this, least of all to you. Gott, I thought I knew him." He shakes his head and closes his eyes. Scout can feel it, a slight tremor running through the German as he tenses, and the grip on his shoulders tightens. "Dummkopf!" he hisses to himself with a sharp snap of his head.

Medic's never been good at containing his emotions. He's more prone to outbursts than most of them, yet he's fighting to hold back his anger for Scout's sake. It's kinda touching, in a morbid way.

"Hey, I'm the fucking moron who followed that asshole into... Jesus, how stupid can I be?" he chokes out the last part as the reality of his blunder hits him again, even harder.

Medic gives him a curious stare but doesn't push him. His large hands convey strength and control as he rubs them up and down his shoulders. If only he could curl back up against his chest like he had earlier. It felt so safe there.

"He tells me..." Scout scoffs, hate and shame turning to cynicism in some bitter last-ditch effort to shield his hurt. "He says he's gotta bring me to some place Miss Pauling is waitin'... says she has a mission for me. Then he brings me to some fuckin' empty warehouse. Fuck! I fuckin'- I fell for that, Doc! God, I deserved this."

"Nein!" The sudden raise in volume and sharp tone in that one word makes Scout recoil, but Medic's grip holds him fast. "Do not ever say that! Do not ever even think that! Do you hear me? You are not to blame, and you did not deserve this."

He manages only a nod before he crumbles again, sobbing. A few tears manage to fall, but mostly he just works himself into a fit of hyperventilating. Medic's patience holds, and he takes a sideways seat on the bed beside Scout. He rubs his back and across his shoulders with just the right amount of pressure, trying to soothe him back to normal breaths. Hesitating for a moment, he reaches his arm across his back and gives him an awkward half hug. It's all he needs, and Scout turns just enough to lean into the doctor, burying himself against his chest in his dry crying. 

"M'sorry," he whimpers between gasps for air.

"Stop apologizing."

"I-I just... What am I gonna d-do? I c-can't even kill him... He'll just come back." He never imagined he'd resent Respawn.

There is a strange silence, and when Medic speaks again, his voice is odd. "There are ways around that."

"...How?" he murmurs, face buried in the scratchy wool of Medic's vest. The older man smells like aftershave and disinfectant, but it's a comforting scent that brings to mind security.

Medic doesn't respond right away, mulling over whatever it is he's considering in the privacy of his thoughts. "There is one among us who is capable of altering or even disabling the settings for Respawn," he says at length.

Just as Scout leans up slightly, enough to gawk wide-eyed at the implication of Medic's statement, the older man lifts a finger to his lips. He holds his breath, not having been sure what to say to begin with.

"Promise me you'll stay here. I wish to confront Spy myself, and you need to rest," Medic presses, giving him that stern look of his.

Dread ties knots in Scout's stomach. Why does he need to confront him? Of course he knows the answer to that already. Medic doesn't believe their teammate really did this. The worst part is, if he hadn't been there, if it had been anyone else, he never would have believed it either. 

"...He's just gonna deny it," he mumbles. "Then you'll believe him cause he's a lying creep a-and then I'm screwed!"

Medic is quiet, but it's evident he is mulling things over. His arms are still draped around Scout, too warm, but perfect just the same. The deep ocean blue eyes won't meet his though, and it's scaring him.

"Please, Doc! You're the only one I can trust and if he convinces you I'm all alone."

"Scout, bitte. I... Herr Spy and I have worked together long before you were brought here." Medic's voice has never sounded like this before. It's melancholy, so much so that it frightens him to hear how distant it is. "We have a... history. Whatever turned him into this monster, I have to know."

"'A history'," he mimics. "You mean...? Jesus. ...Holy fuck!" Scout starts to pull away, his stomach twisting anew. He fights to keep the tea down. "Do ya... y'know... love him?"

The doctor huffs, the action audible and deliberate. "Not like that. Before Respawn, before this monotonous war, we worked together in some capacity. He was on a mission. He saved my life."

He's not sure whether to be relieved or disheartened further. Of course he had had no idea there was a bond of debt between the two men, or that Medic might be partial. The German would want to believe Spy now. Any reason he could find to deem the Frenchman honest would go against Scout. God, he should've never said anything to Medic at all. 

Scout pushes his hands against the doctor's broad chest and shoves an arm's length between them. Shaking again, he can't even decide which emotion is causing it anymore. They all just keep cycling through him, trading spaces back and forth and making his head throb and his guts slosh.

"Scout?"

"Don't! Fuck, man, just don't say anything!" he chokes out. "Ya already know whose side you're gonna take, so why the fuck did ya go makin' me wanna trust you?"

"I am not going to take his side! What do you take me for?" Medic snaps, and he reaches out to snatch Scout's chin. "I want answers, but that is all. I assure you, his penitence will come only in the form of being the test subject for experiments I cannot get approved by our employer." 

The wicked, wild, twisted light is back in his eyes. It's a look no one can afford to fail to recognize when Medic is around, enemy or ally. As a colleague, it's good to prepare oneself mentally. Even if his weird projects have been helpful to the team, he's had a few mishaps. He's not always as careful as he once was; Respawn affords him that luxury. As for his enemies? Well, the screams that come from the infirmary when a BLU has gotten himself captured make those blonde damsels in the gory horror flicks sound like laughter. And that is to be the fate of the Spy. The fate of his father. No. The fate of his  _rapist_.

Clinging to that last title as a reminder that this is justice, even while the very word nauseates him, Scout nods. "Okay," he manages. 

Medic releases his chin then, only to pat his cheek. It's a strange gesture, after which his palm lingers against Scout's flesh, and his thumb draws lazy circles over his cheekbone. He kind of likes it, though, and leans into it. 

"I won't let him come near you."

"Promise?" He scans the darker blue of Medic's eyes, hoping.

"Ja. Promise." 

Silence creeps between them, and the whirring of the Medigun fills in the space with a soothing calm. The warmth of the rays still buzzes through Scout's tired, sore muscles to ease the tension. He allows for a few more minutes to pass like that, just watching and waiting. His eyelids grow heavy, and his head eventually sicks all its weight against the strong, soft hand. With Medic effectively holding his head up, he starts to drift off. Catching the loss of consciousness coming on, Medic coaxes Scout to lie back. After pulling the blankets over him, he moves away. 

"Doc?" Scout calls, voice muffled through the wool covers. "...Stay here... please? You can sleep, too. I won't take up too much space..."

Several foggy seconds - or even minutes - pass, and Scout wonders if he said something stupid. It was probably dumb to think Medic would even be amenable to sharing a bed. Actually he doesn't even know why he is, he just doesn't want to be alone. But then the older man shifts to the empty side of the bed and the mattress sinks as he sits to discard his boots. He doesn't undress more than that, and chooses to settle down on top of the blanket. A sting of guilt pinches Scout and he hopes the doctor doesn't get too cold. That is the last coherent thought, however. With the last bits of his awareness, he feels the older man gather him up to his chest for another time. His heart flutters amidst the peace taking him, and he lets out a deep sigh.

  
\--

  
_His father scowls at him across the dinner table, and he shrinks in his seat. He was being too loud again, and he knows what that's going to mean later._

_Ma is glowing, though; she has no idea what's going on, and Scout intends to keep it that way. For her sake, and for his own. He can barely face her now, with the shame in the back of his mind. If she knew, too, it would be impossible to look at her._

_Maybe she wouldn't want to look at him, either. Spy was in her life first, and God the way she's fussing over him makes him sick. She's so happy to have them home together, chattering on and gazing at the Frenchman with adoration. This was Ma's wish, to have her lover and their son back with her for the holidays like a proper family. She really does love him, and Scout would be a real ass to ruin that for her. Even if it is a lie. So he bites his tongue._

_Spy would murder him if he spoke up, anyway. Slowly, meticulously, he'd rip away what few shreds of dignity were left in Scout. The abuse is bad, but he's allowed freedom in between, allowed to live his life during the day._

_When night comes, he doesn't even try to lock his door. Spy can pick locks, and he's just that much crueler for having been made to bother. Scout's been punished for his 'insolence' several times already._

_He still shakes in his bed when he feel the draft from the open door against the back of his neck. The hairs stand on end there, but all he can do is wait, straining to hear the click of the door. Scout trembles, wishing he could run, but he has to stay. He has to behave, so he can keep pretending for his mom in the daylight. The clink of a belt makes him jolt. Following it is the rustle of clothing._

_"You were being a nuisance today, mon fils," Spy hisses, his mouth not even an inch from his ear. "Time to show me how sorry you are."_

_"Yes, Daddy," he whimpers. His voice is hollow, and suddenly he's not in his body anymore. He's watching, as if he were someone else, as Spy discards the rest of his clothing._

_"Bien." The Frenchman uses his tie as a gag to keep him quiet. Ma is only a room away, across the hall. "Hmph, I suppose I'm going to have to get you a muzzle. You're going to ruin that tie with your slobber. It's worth more than you."_

_Without warning, Spy strikes him across the face, hard enough to snap his head back to one side. Then he begins to pull Scout's briefs and shirt off, his motions rough by design. He suffers the manhandling in silence, and is wrestled face down into the mattress._

_Still somehow outside of himself, he feels an urge to interfere, to stop this, but he can't move. Or maybe he won't let himself move. The sensation is surreal and fuzzy. Now he can hear his muffled, stifled little choked sobs as Spy strikes his bare ass. He doesn't 'warm him up' or start slow; he just goes as hard as he can until Scout is sobbing._

_Only then does he lean back, admiring the bruised ass while he begins stroking his cock. A sadistic smirk stretches across his face. "You know what's next, lapin. Daddy's going to fuck you, and it's going to hurt. For you, at least. I'm going to feel very good."_

_As always, he uses only spit to wet himself. It's just enough to keep it within comfort levels for himself. He pushes in as fast as he is able, leering with that wicked grin. Scout buries his face in the pillow to muffle his cry. His whole body has gone rigged, convulsing with pain and silent sobs._

_It's too much, he realizes. He can't stand on the outside and let this continue. He opens his mouth to shout, "Stop!" but no sound will come out._

_Panic clutches at him and he tries again. Then again. He's fading, falling back into his body. The illusion of control leaves him and he realizes he's still the victim._

Then he wakes up.

He's shaking so badly he can't even move his own muscles. His lower lip and jaw are trembling non-stop and choked sobs escape his open mouth. The usual post-nightmare relief doesn't seem to help much, but Medic's arm around his back, propping him up against him, does. So does the strong hand that keeps smoothing back the slightly longer bangs of his sweaty hair. Medic's hands are soft and uncalloused from spending so much time under protective rubber. It's sort of comforting.

"I'm s-sorry," he stutters, adrenaline still overwhelming his system. "Sorry I w-woke you."

"Hush. I was barely catnapping." Medic rocks him back and forth. The motion is faint, almost unnoticeable, but it helps to lull Scout's nerves just the same. "I had already expected you might have nightmares."

Scout hides his face in the doctor's shoulder. The crisp cotton of his shirt cools his flushed cheeks somewhat, and he wills himself to stop hyperventilating. "What am I gonna do? Ma's expectin' us to be a family now. I can't let her down. Oh God, I can't do this!"

"Shhh. Stop thinking about it for now. You're not doing yourself any favors getting more upset."

"Sorry," he mumbles.

"Don't be."

It's clear that Medic is tired, maybe even a touch exasperated, but that's nothing unusual. On a typical day, the man is being pulled a dozen directions by his team and the enemy. In battle he's torn between his bloodlust and his protective, dutiful side. Annoyance often comes through when the latter wins out.

"Ya just seem mad," he mumbles, giving in to his nagging insecurity.

"Oh, I am furious, mein Freund, but not with you. Not with you at all." Medic's voice drops at the end, low and dangerous, and Scout knows for sure now; Spy is going to suffer.


End file.
